As it was, you could find me most days in tears. Not all day, but at some point I would cry. If you had asked me why, I would have answered, "Because it is too much, too hard." Life had caved in. I was suffocating. Fear was my friend, anxiety my companion. Struggle was my breath and pain my guide. Each morning dawned daunting, wanting of substance and void of joy.
Somewhere in my depths, in my core, my soul I searched. I knew this wasn't my lot. I knew it wasn't my destiny to be rooted in that place of distance and separation. I knew there was truth buried beneath the rubble of my expectations. I stated aloud that I would choose to dig, dig beneath the broken dreams, the broken hopes and fantasies. I would choose to excavate the shattered depths of my soul to find that truth. The truth that I could be free. The truth that I could be strong. The truth that I could be victorious.
Stating aloud is good although not enough. I worshiped with a pitted, shredded spirit. I eagerly sought the food of the written word and the Word. I tried to eat it's freshness and internalize the sustenance but often left with the hunger pangs still raging in my heart. It was often like eating air.
I trudged through my relationships, friendships, family and church with the demeanor of the crestfallen. I put on my figurative boots in an effort to not give up on the parts of life that I had hoped would help bring healing and restoration and in the meantime found that my boots were getting heavy from the mud of disappointment and abandonment I began to feel.
I knew I was doing the right things. I was searching, speaking, singing, seeking, staying connected, not isolating, telling my secrets to my confidants. And sometimes I would feel the slightest drop of refreshment on my parched soul. Sometimes I would see the slightest glimpse of light through the shattered and muddied pane of my heart. Sometimes I would feel the tiniest prickle of peace in the tumultuous waters of my emotions. But it didn't seem to last.
Then one day it all broke open... again. The sobbing, bleeding, healing, wretched, beautiful cleansing. It was a time I was alone. I was standing, alone. I was crying tears and crying out to God who I loved but wondered where His kindness was. I was crying about my pain and sorrow. I was crying about my confusion and fear. And I found that I couldn't stand. Really. I couldn't stand. My knees began to buckle and I knew that my heart and soul were failing too. I just cried and simply said to the Father, "God, I can't stand on my own any longer. I have nothing. I can only lean on You." And I leaned, literally, on the wall. I leaned and cried and leaned.
The day I leaned... that memory is etched in my forever. My bad didn't end and I wasn't all joy and goodness. My pain wasn't all healed and my fear was not all gone. My sadness wasn't erased and my tears continued to flow. But, the Grace came in. The Forgiveness washed over. The Peace began to illuminate within. The day I leaned I also fell. Fell on Grace and fell on my knees. I left my self on the floor and stood up and leaned again on the Father and the Promise and the Truth.It wasn't the period at the end of the sentence. It was the beginning of the story. The new story.
This story continues. Today my dreams and hopes for the future are thin and wispy and the mirror that reflects the happily ever after from my before is quite shattered. But it is not altogether gone. Today my soul has found a solid place to anchor. I often return to the moment I dropped my self and released my ugly brokenness and fear. I return to remember, to relive the surrender and lean. And I am renewed and reminded of the solid promise of my Father to hold me when I lean.
T
